


Forever Yours/Yours Forever

by onbeinganangel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Grief/Mourning, Jealousy, M/M, Remus Lupin Lives, Sirius Black Lives, but like with a hopeful open ending, just a whole lot of sirius black feeling miserable and grieving, remadora happens during a fair chunk of this but I'm afraid tonks meets her canon fate in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:47:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27164758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onbeinganangel/pseuds/onbeinganangel
Summary: It all starts with Sirius stuck in Grimmauld Place watching the love of his life fall in love with his cousin. He's... what is it the kids say these days? Ah, yes,straight up not having a good time.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 20
Kudos: 65





	Forever Yours/Yours Forever

**Author's Note:**

> I had a sudden flash of inspiration this morning and wanted to write Sirius and Remus reconnecting post Prisoner of Azkaban. Somewhere along the way, what I was writing turned into a very angsty exploration of Sirius Black's post-Azkaban feelings. The muse said "make it hurt" and the muse is my mistress and I will not let her down.
> 
> For full effect, play the soundtrack to Mary Magdalene (the 2018 film directed by Garth Davis), which is what was playing in the background as I wrote.
> 
> A big thank you to the darling [Tortellini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tortellini) who beta read this for me in an absolute flash!

He writes the letter the first time he finds his cousin Dora with her lips against Remus’ neck in a dark corner on the second floor.

He sits in the darkness of his room, anger bubbling up in his gut like a potion in a cauldron. He can hear everyone around him, the sound of voices being carried through the old house. The silence of Dora and Remus - whatever it is they’re up to (he tries not to think about it but his traitor brain provides him with plenty of possibilities). Molly banging pans and pots about in the kitchen. Bill, Kingley and Moody’s voices in the parlour, discussing some plan he’d love to be involved in. Kreacher’s grating mumbles in the attic. His Mother’s incessant screeches. The house itself - doors moaning on their hinges, steps creaking under feet, pipes growling inside the walls. His own heart, thumping away in his chest; his own breath, coming out in pants as he takes quill to parchment.

_Moony,_

_Did you ever think we’d end up like this? Before you became the love of my life, you were my best mate. Now you’re someone who lives in my house and sits at my table and doesn’t ever look me in the eye. If it wasn’t for Harry, I’d happily take another twelve years in that dreadful hellish place over this._

_If I ask all the questions I have, I will be writing forever, so this will have to suffice: why do you avoid me? Is it because of her - my own blood - is she jealous? Does she know? Is it because of you - do you still want to jump me like you did when we were eighteen? Is it because of me - am I that different from the Sirius Black you once loved? Is it because of the wolf - can he smell it on me - how much I still want you, nay, need you, how it breaks my heart every time she touches you?_

_Or is it because it hurts?_

_It’s all those reasons and more for me, Moons._

_Don’t think I don’t hear you at dusk, Remus. Those sweet, low sounds I used to know so well, but now it’s her in your bed. Don’t think I don’t see you at dawn. Making yourself tea in the dark, letting the evil in this bloody house speak to you, touch you, claim you for itself. You’re so different but so much of you is still the same. You still smell like chocolate and tea, I can tell even from afar. But I wonder if your hair still feels soft like cashmere, if your eyes would still shine golden like thick molten honey if I whispered sweet nothings in your ear. It pains me how much I want to know how many more scars you have collected, how much I want to know if you still see yourself as a monster._

_You know I never did._

_Forever yours,_

_Padfoot_

*

He wakes up to a half destroyed room every morning. He puts all manner of spells up when he goes to bed, although he’s not sure why he bothers. Remus is only ever around if Dora is around. Most of the time, he’s out doing Merlin knows what under Dumbledore’s orders. Snivellus is just waiting for an excuse to throw Sirius at the Aurors, he would probably rejoice at his suffering. There is always a Weasley or another around, sometimes that pretty little Veela of Bill’s. Moody is as much a pain in the arse as he ever was. Kingsley has become, surprisingly, a sight for sore eyes, a memory that doesn’t hurt. Andromeda is around too, at times, but if he thought his relationship with Remus was in tatters after his escape, he doesn’t even know where to start with the state of his relationship with his own cousin.

It’s hard being a Black. Blood is not to be trusted. He knows this, Andromeda knows this. Which he supposes is why they don’t trust each other anymore. He’d had family, once. It had nothing to do with blood, but he had a family, long ago. He tries not to think about it too much. Euphemia, Fleamont - the only parents who ever loved him. James - well, he can’t think about James. He can’t think of James’ laugh, or the way his glasses slid down his nose whenever he scrunched it up because he was thinking of a prank, how he went all googly-eyed talking about Lily, how much he enjoyed running around as a stag - he can’t think of any of it. If he thinks of James, even if it’s just for a second, before bed, the night is even tougher. He wakes up to more mess. More broken furniture, more exploded glass, more fabric torn to shreds. More clean up to do.

It’s not like he doesn’t have the time. But, when he looks at his bedroom in pieces, he sees a reflection of himself that he really doesn’t like.

It’s all a bit of a vicious cycle. It’s worse when he thinks of James but who else would he think of? It’s James he misses when he loses control, because it was James who taught him how to rein it back in, how to release his anger in a healthy way. It was James that woke up to his room (a room he loved so much more than he ever did this one) torn apart, those tough few nights after he’d escaped this place and his Mother.

Being stuck in Grimmauld Place is a second prison sentence for a crime he never committed and he thinks he may just punch Snivellus next time he seems him, see if that helps.

*

When he finally punches Snivellus, a few weeks later, Remus grabs him and hauls him back into his own chest. He’s still strong. _God, he’s still so strong._ Sirius is amped up but he doesn’t resist for long. The desire to punch Snape’s stupid nose in is nothing compared to the desire to feel Moony’s body against his. So he lets himself sag into Remus’ frame as Snape snarls and spits fury and vitriol at them.

It’s the first time Remus touches Sirius since the full moon at the Shack. The night when they almost got Peter.

Sirius sinks and Remus lets him fall back, holds him up with his strong arms like it’s no big deal. He only lets go when Dora enters the room and clears her throat.

*

Harry is the reason why Sirius keeps going. Why he doesn’t lose his temper at Dumbledore more often. Why he doesn’t run away from the house that makes him suffer so deeply. Why he doesn’t do anything other than grab a bottle of elderflower wine, or firewhiskey or mead or whatever he can find in the cellar and shuts himself in his room whenever Dora is looking too cosy around Remus for his liking.

Prongslet must be protected at all costs. He owes James that. So he keeps going. The days in Grimmauld Place are long and the nights are somehow longer. He’s been banned from stepping out into the garden, which is ludicrous, seeing as the small garden is part of the property and, therefore, under the Fidelius charm too. “Sirius, we’re not taking any chances. We can’-” Remus starts, but Sirius cuts him off, his chair scraping loudly against the stone floor, toppling backwards with the force he uses to move away from the table. “Like you fucking care, Remus.”

He stomps all the way to his bedroom, rousing his Mother in the process. It’s just what he deserves. To sit in his room wallowing in his self-pity, while his Mother’s voice rips him apart with her wailing, Remus’ knocks on the door and his low “Padfoot, come on” break his heart and the house itself, the room where he sleeps haunts him. Every bit exactly what he deserves.

*

Weeks turn into months turn into years. He thinks, anyway. He doesn’t really know. He tries to remember the last time he felt happiness, and the memory of Lily’s smile assaults him. He tries to remember the last time he felt the sunshine on his face, and the memory of James on his broom throwing a quaffle at him comes to mind. He tries to remember the last time he was hugged like it meant something, and the memory is of Regulus and he can’t take it, he just can’t take it anymore.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been stuck in this house now. He thinks of Harry. Focuses on how Harry needs him. How he can make Harry’s life better, if Dumbledore would let him. 

Things feel like they’re moving quickly, these days. Not for him, of course. Nothing ever moves in Grimmauld Place, except maybe for Remus and Dora in that godforsaken bedroom on the second floor. Except maybe for Sirius’ depression, leaking out of him in the form of his tears, his sick, his spunk… seeping into the floorboards, trickling down the walls like golden syrup, leaving him empty and lost. 

The war feels real again, but that’s for those who can go outside, who can do something, who can help. The war feels real again, just like it did the first time, but Sirius is nothing but a parasite who walks aimlessly around the corridors of a house that actively wants him dead. 

*

“Freak.”

“Traitor.”

“Scum.

“Filth.”

“Yes, yes, good morning, Mother. How are you today?” He shouts back at the portrait because what else is he meant to do?

No one has stepped into Grimmauld Place in four days. Not Kingsley, not Moody, not even Mundungus bleeding Fletcher. Not one Weasley. Not Dora, or her mother. Hell, he’d take Dumbledore if it had to come to that. He’s convinced he would feel delighted if even Snivellus walked through the damn door, at this point.

And it is not that he is counting, but it’s been nineteen days since Remus was last home and Sirius is about ready to eviscerate Dumbledore for sending Moons on these godawful missions when he sees him next.

He spends a fair chunk of his days staring at the hole in the tapestry where his face used to be. If his eyes dart over to Regulus’ face every other minute and he feels sick to his stomach but incapable to make himself stop looking, he would never tell.

It’s just Sirius, now. Alone, in this house, with his Mother’s portrait, a decrepit house elf and his own demons for company. Oh, joy of joys.

*

When word comes, he’s the first on his feet. Prongslet must be protected at all costs and he won’t fail. Remus gives him a wry look that says “you’re doing this out of your own shitty self-serving reasons” and Sirius smiles a cocky, shit-eating grin - one that hasn’t come to him naturally in years. One that says “yeah, what if I am itching for a fight? What are you going to do about it?”

Sirius always thought everything family related made things harder. More awkward. And, perhaps, if it was Reg or Cissa on the other end of his wand, maybe he’d hesitate. But Bella? Bella deserves every hex and every curse. Bella deserves to bleed. To burn. To _pay._ Sirius thinks of James when he looks at Harry. He thinks of Frank and Alice when the curse hits him square on the chest.

*

Sirius jumps out from the other side of the veil into darkness. He is dizzy, confused, and in pain, like he’s lost too much blood or he’s been in Padfoot’s body for too long. He was only on the other side for a second, how come everyone’s gone, how come there are no vestiges of the battle they’d been fighting?

The commotion that forms when he is found only adds to his confusion. His head hurts, his body hurts and he just needs to find Harry. To find Remus.

He dips in and out of consciousness as he’s seen to by Healers, interrogated by Aurors, and curiously regarded by Unspeakables. In the end, it’s a kind Auror with a bright smile and glossy hair who sits him down, gives him a cup of tea and a biscuit and explains in quiet whispers that he’s been presumed dead for over two years. The war has been won. Harry Potter is alive and a hero. Remus Lupin is a widower with a small baby to raise on his own. Sirius was _posthumously_ pardoned and, seeing as it turns out he’s alive by some miraculous anomaly, is a free man.

The Department of Mysteries almost doesn't let him go: he’s a project, a case-study, a pet. What he always was. To his Mother, first, to Azkaban, second, and _to Remus, third._ But in the end, it’s to Remus that he’s returned. 

“We’ve owled someone, Mr. Black. You’re going to be monitored because we still need to figure out what happened, but you can go home. You need rest, above all. I know emotions will be running high but please try to keep calm. Remember it’s been seconds for you but it has been almost three for everyone els-”

“Siri.” It’s Remus’ breathless voice that interrupts the Unspeakable’s fourth rendition of that little speech. Remus all but runs down the steps to the Death Chamber and pulls Sirius into a tight hug. “I thought you were gone, I thought I lost you again, Pads, I thought everyone I’ve ever lov-”

He stops himself but Sirius catches it, and even after a couple of weeks of dizzy spells and being poked and prodded by Unspeakles, his heart swells up in his chest like a balloon.

*

Remus clears his throat loudly, watching Sirius as he takes in what is, by the looks of it, still his room. “Y- you didn’t touch it.” 

“Harry wouldn’t allow it. I wanted to. It h- it hurt too much.” Remus’ voice is still wavering, just like it was back at the Ministry.

“Re…”

“Sirius. I found your letter, while you were gone.”

Sirius' breath catches in his lungs. _No. Gods, no. No more pain, no more rejection. Please._

Remus pulls a piece of parchment out of the back pocket of his slacks and passes it over. As he unfolds the parchment, Sirius is surprised to find out that it’s not _the_ letter. It’s not even his handwriting. It’s Remus’. He’d recognise the cramped swotty calligraphy anywhere.

He glances at Remus’ face with a question and Remus nods. So he reads on.

_Padfoot,_

_I thought I knew pain. My life has, in fact, been nothing but pain. The bite, the first time I turned, my mother… then, losing James, and Lily, and Peter, and thinking you had betrayed us all and what we had. I can’t even begin to tell you how much my heart ached when I woke up in the Hogwarts Express to a boy who looked just like our Prongs had but with Lily’s eyes. A boy I’d seen in the first hour of his life, a boy whose first word and first step I witnessed. And, ultimately, a boy who had no idea who I was._

_None of that will ever compare to the pain of losing you. Of knowing I never told you. Of knowing I could have had you, knowing I’d spent months avoiding you because yes, Padfoot, she was jealous. She knew - she knows. And, of course, I still wanted to jump you like I did when we were eighteen, have you seen you? I can’t deny how much the wolf wanted you either, I can’t deny that he would seek out your scent, pinpoint every single one of your emotions (your want, your need, your lust but also your jealousy, your hurt, your anger). He would always find you first amidst the mess that was Grimmauld Place._

_Sirius, I realise now I will never get to tell you how sorry I am. I like to think you know, wherever you are. I hope you found Jamie, or I hope Jamie found you. He was always good at that. I miss you, every minute of every day. Dora knows. She… well, I like to think you know this too, she’s carrying my baby. I am scared, and worried._

_Everything is changing. War is coming, Pads. It feels like the first time but you’re not here, and Jamie is not here, and Harry… I am terrified for him._

_I love Dora. I am sorry, but I do. She is wonderful. However, I think she knows I will do everything to protect Harry. Everything. And it’s so lonely, even with her, even though I am constantly surrounded by people. Without you, without James, life is so, so lonely._

_I love you. I never stopped. I love you and I wish I told you when I could. I am sorry, Sirius, I am so sorry. I think perhaps I’ll see you very soon._

_Yours forever,_

_Moony_

**Author's Note:**

> I... am sorry? I'm on [tumblr too](https://onbeinganangel.tumblr.com) if you feel the need to shout at me for this.


End file.
